Long Waxing Poems
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While the city rests under the velvet of skyline ,
I lie awake to trace a highway of clouds
trailing against a lunar pageant,
as evening shadows alter different time zones
throughout the universe's frame--
while ambrosial rawness enters my pores
from the fondle of this waxing red-ball.
Oh Clair de Lune...there is something mysterious
about your portrait of near midnight: amiable...
dangerous, and carnal ; just ripe for my heart
to listen as nocturnal larks trill a serenade--
each note ready to multiply into hundreds
of minutes; that such orb's mystery remains
unanswered by all creatures anticipating
a new moon's rhapsody gradually simmering
like your allured chant which flames
upon lovers' clandestine rendezvous.
For Craig Cornish: Claire De Lune
Revised, new poem 8/7/2018
eventually the overthinking had stopped
meditation and prayer had settled emotional scores
and bygones became a bright shadow of hope
past performance was no indicator of future success
the Tarot cards merely pictures of a possible path
a fool on a journey of becoming wise and serene
he settled for what was there at this moment
in immense gratitude and with blossoming faith
in his dream he was transported by a yellow convertible
surely a yellow brick road of transformation ahead
and he settled for amber curiosity and anticipation
conversed with Higher Powers to be in absolute charge
he dusted his boots and polished up an experience
that he had not chosen but lead to freedom and mileage
laced his walking shoes and ventured in patience
floodgates had closed once the earthquake diminished
as a rainbow and solemn star in the sky offered guidance
to move on and embrace a waxing moon of departure
destination not yet disclosed one day at a time
I have this strange feelings twirling in my stomach since yesterday and it will not go away, it is not a feeling of pain, it’s not a feeling of shame or guilt, it is the feeling you get when someone has taken your heart away. You know the one that young lovers get when they fall in love for the first time and don’t have a dime? It is not quite like that but almost like that. It feels like something is literally twirling in my stomach, I am not sure if it is butterfly or middle age crisis.
I was supposed to be going places, soaking in hot springs and enjoying fine beaches. I was supposed to be going places, skiing on the slopes, and holding on to the ropes, climbing branded mountains and spending the night in the wooded cabins piled up with snow around me with a little fire place to warm my hands and feet while sipping hot chocolates from my brand name mug.
But here I am in this place stuck for four long years suffocating from the stanch coming from the toilet pit hardheaded children screaming from the top of their voices, stirring my bones and sinews, great god, I have to start my life anew.
I grip firmly to my pride listening to the commotion around me and the cars racing up and down the alley, the music box shouts from across the street while the night fades slowly before me and embracing daylight in front of me. The birds start swirling in the restless sky looking for the early morning goodbye.
I walked along the road and looked at their faces soaked with anxiety and parched variety; the waxing moon hinges its burden to the sky and watches the people as they go by. Plunging into precipice and drowning in waterfalls. I watch the lines moving around the bend; parallel lines, straight line, zigzag lines, curved lines and horizontal lines that one can walk on. I followed the diagonal line to the end looking for a new friend but the butterfly kept twirling in my stomach and I feel like throwing up.
Change the plot or many more will rot, change the plot and get the people out of the rock, change the plot and get me back on track. Change the plot so that I can wear a brand new frock. Change the plot to end the shock. Change the plot and raise your glasses.
i almost cried
bought a cheap
gas bottle
from a friend
who was up visiting
said a neighbor
had moved out
gave it
to him saying
its almost full
saying its three times
normal size
of the gas bottle t
which you
have out there
how much
do you want
for it i said
seeing a chance
of a bargain
really interested
30 euros he said
managed to get it
for 20 euros
telling him
i am taking a chance
it might not work
smiling into myself
different story later
got it back
to the place
carried it
around the back
got a jublie clip
connected them together
went in
began putting on a fry
cooking away almost done
i turn to
my niece
walks in the door
she gives me
one awful push
screaming into flames
roaring saying
the place
is on fire
all the hairs
on my arms
went up
in smoke
caught a bucket of water
throwing it
upon the flames
my hair catches fire
my niece
was roaring laughing
at this stage
ran around
the back ripped
the gas bottle
out from the wall
run in with another
bucket of water
dousing the flames
ran to the barrel
of water
dipping my hands in
only now
i am shaking
with shock
that stupid gas bottle
has just
cost me
a clean fortune
should of known
it was to
good to be true
put creams
for burns on
had a sleepless night
but everything is ok
just have
hairless arms
sick working at
repairing the damage
that is me
finished with
gas bottles
my niece
said she could
not help laughing
even i was in flames
she said it was the fastest
she ever saw me moving
with your hair on fire
it was like something out
of a movie
she said
it did not seem real
that she was shocked
stood and done nothing
my father today
began laughing
he said my arms
he never seen them
looking so smooth looking
a better job
than waxing he said
a mad story
from the hills
of donegal
imagine that
an idiot almost
blew himself up
laughing out loud
into myself ha ha
Twilight
One evening we reflect on the illusion of time as the shadows grow longer
fire and passion twinkles in our eyes to guide us through befriended night
the time has come for candles incense evening song soft tender touches
From whence me met the bond of love emerged and cultivated ever stronger
launched our intermingling journey's shelter guidance rather miraculously alight
together we ascended out of lonely days and nights rejected twilight’s judges
Our inner compass navigated by the waxing moon’s unison pulled us to wander
in wonderment one-sightedness’ gravitation pushed open luscious sensorial delight
we played before and after dusky dawn and musky pleasures erased all smudges
Of the past while we forgave but not forgot chose to enjoy and not to squander
each light and every angle lens perspective to melt our stories to relive rewrite
as ‘Kairos’ passes ‘Chronos’ streams of consciousness while Cosmos watches
Kindness togetherness hungry craving adoration in abounds that knows no yonder
with life a thoughtful feeling’s pleasure cruise flowing with tides no struggle’s fight
one evening waits and wrinkles paint condense come walking frame or crutches
Our skin will peel and show our age in timeless time but we travel fond and fonder
fondle caress our heartfelt minds and mating souls our grateful passage in full sight
in infinite eternal sanctum solemn homebound prayer until and when the reaper clutches
22nd September 2016
In prophecy
we often fixate
on time's unprofitable passage,
on degenerative change
on long-neglected reform
on our need to redeem our time
now past.
Yet this notice of opportunities and risks
for future climates of pathology and health
is surrounded by an implicit right-hemisphere awareness,
a felt prophecy
pre-verbal
erupting from compassionate tenacity
of resilient health-wealth Time re-membered,
Matriarchal womb nurtured,
this prophetic nutrition of communal circles
and resonant spirals,
waxing and waning waves
of emotively implied pre-formation,
primal ZeroZone re-attachment
back through
and to
All Souls Yang-unfolding and Yin-refolding
universal and unitarian
strong-flowing
prophetic TaoTime;
Time tenaciously prophetic,
compassionately redeveloping integrity of health re-connected with wealth
left rationality with right synergy
polypathic thought with polyphonic feeling;
Courageous Either/Or with curious Both/And
ego/eco-logic;
Vulnerable with Transparent
prophetic polyculturing communication.
Here I am
a voodoo doll
made from rags
of what is left
filled with organic lavnder
of what once was
squashed between two palms
without a lifeline
I am here
whilst you are there
beneath our waxing moon
embroidering my heart
with mourning cross-stitch
'I don't want to say
what I feel to say'
'I don't want to complicate
our existence'
I hear you chant
by a bonfire
invoking spirits
who have no memory
I hear you shout
persuading them
to exert their influence
into both worlds
Yours and my own
There you are
with pins and needles
fighting your battle
against the depth
of these eyes
which seek your lips
against the height
of your thought
which seeks my dream
against the length
of one love which
lives the present
Blue is the colour
that cast the curse
of ancient spells
against its enemy
that cast the curse
against two souls
which breathe as one
but not forever
Here I am
a voodoo doll
made from rags
of what is left
Patchworking my pride
Escaping so far
from that last
sharp pinching feeling.
ps-I do believe the only healer is God but I enjoyed myself watching a documentary
about things I never knew even if its not what i believe...
This is a fiction poem inspired by a short documentary
I always thought as voodoo dolls as something evil
but this documentary stated that in African countries
these dolls are used for healing and good will.
The naysayers are going to "nay,"
So why are you concerned with what they
think or say?
They're just doing their job,
And some are quite good at it...
Remember you had a glorious destiny
Before they had an opinion.
So please never forget--
To forget would be tragic;
Knowing you never unleashed that God-given magic.
It was given to you,
So you must see it through.
Yes, by being true to yourself--
And no worries; you have all the help.
So...
So, what, they give you the evil eye?
Stay true and remember your "why."
So what if they launch scurrilous attacks and
Act jealous?
It's okay because truth shines in darkness like a
waxing gibbous
So what they throw lemons at your feet
Step on them and then pick 'em up and make
Lemonade that's cold and sweet
So.... So.... So.... What?
The stage has been set; the time is now. So strut!
The Waxing Moon and the Wind
The winter wind tears at the throat of night
like a fair weather friend.
Once, breeze born seeds had nourished
the ripe soil of summer's joining,
alliances of water, wind, earth and fire
which formed from heart source,
now ravaged by competition.
Howls of blood lust wreak havoc
on the weakening darkness, the pack hunts,
reveling in the hoar frost and the sharp
hump of gibbous moon in the eastern sky.
Each rattle of shutter brings hope to the
onslaught of gale searching to claim
the lead and lead…
to find a chink in the human armor
of hearth, home and family.
Yet, though the wind has might,
the heart fire burns bright and in this warm
light true friendship can be born,
for there is no beauty in the gnashing of teeth
and rending of nascent flesh.
May the wind mellow and once again
carry the seeds of Spring, new life, new art,
and upon the rack of Godly hart.
No longer marooned
The underworld of pain too much cement
concrete delusions with only the scent
of stench life force spent a path on descent
Curve balls and orbit on steady decline
moon waning and waxing to intertwine
her shadows with his at first clandestine
Once secrets vanished they conquered the moon
cherished the crescents squared semi circles’ doom
moon spoons dining together to their tune
All moments now precious on lunar scape
assembled the stars their hearts now agape
they took their chance for this epic escape
‘I love you so much’ ‘I adore you so too’
‘Our orb’s tattoo is thus no longer taboo’
A miracle but the moon always knew
17th March 2017
Syllables checked on howmanysyllables.com